Episode 07: The Head On My Shoulders Won't Fuck Itself

I’d never heard a noise that loud in my life. It wasn’t startling or even surprising. It was fear-inducing. It was fucking scary.

The bottle exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, lost in the wind and snow. It didn’t even leave a mark on the fence. It was like it had never even existed.

“C’mon!” Demon grabbed me by my hand and pulled me back through the still propped back door. The heat of that back stairwell hit me instantly. Combined with the rush of watching him pick off that Premium bottle from 35 yards, I started sweating and shaking. He noticed right way.

“Ha huh! First time you ever seen something like that?”

“Jesus Christ! Why did you do that?”

“To make sure this damn thing works. I hadn’t even tried it out yet.”

I noticed that he was still holding onto the pistol. It was hypnotic. Still shaking, I asked, “Can I see it?”

He handed it to me. “Careful, it’s still hot. Don’t touch the barrel.”

I took it from him and held it up, out of the shadows. I‘d never fired a gun before. Never even held one, really. I carried a rifle in its case for my Grandpa when I was just a kid, but I guess I didn‘t really get the sense of just how powerful it was. I looked it over thoroughly. It was black with some gray trim around the barrel and trigger. “Magnum” was inscribed on the side.

“You picked this up out East? Why?”

“I got some dudes back home who needed this one to disappear.”

“Couldn’t they have just thrown in in the river? Or the goddamn ocean?”

“Trust me, those NYC cops know all the tricks. The only legit way to get ridda these things is to get them out of the boroughs. These Minneapolis cops aren’t looking for it. They’re too busy towing cars and writing tickets to even think about it.”

“Aren’t you worried that someone heard us just now. Fuck me! I’ve never heard anything so loud.”

“Yeah, they probably did.” He reached out and took the gun back from me. “We probably ought to go back upstairs.”

He tucked it into his pants, behind his belt. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. He was always doing little shit like that, y’know, to show that he was “real.” I should probably stop laughing though. I mean, bringing guns back from New York is pretty fucking real to me. Too real, in fact.

He took my hand again and pulled me back up the stairs. By the time we got to the second floor we could hear the bass pounding from his apartment on the third. Evidently the party was still going.

“Ay, don’t tell anyone about that, alright?”

“Who would I tell?”

“Girl, how the fuck should I know? I know you girls talk. Just keep this between you and me. It’s no one’s business.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

I finally stopped shaking as we stepped back through the door. I still felt excruciatingly hot, though. I got my boots, gloves, hat, and jacket off as quickly as I could, grabbed a fresh Premium, and headed straight for the bathroom. The noise was still echoing in my brain.

My reflection was comical. It was like someone had painted my skin and bright pink. As I rubbed cold water across my cheeks I heard a knock on the door.

“Ay, girl.”

It was Demon.

“What?”

“You need some more?”

I opened the door. I desperately needed some more.

Episode 06: Time's The Great Destroyer

I live in this apartment by myself.

I suppose that’s not technically true. I live with my cat. He’s truly the love of my life. He hides it behind typical feline aloofness, but I know he loves me too..

When I walk in the door, he’s always there, yelling at me for having left him alone for an extended period of time (he starts the clock ten minutes).

Even though he’ll spend the rest of the day walking around this apartment or dozing in the sun (it only peaks through the windows for about an hour and a half each day), he always manages to find a comfortable place in my bed at night. Usually between my arm and my chest, head on my shoulder, paw copping a cheap feel.

Most of the time I enjoy this isolation. Just my one true love and me. A mutually satisfying relationship. But let me tell you, when the loneliness gets to me, it hits hard.

I shouldn’t complain. I’m doing pretty well for myself, all things considered. Student loans are paid off. My art sells. I’ll probably never be forced to live with a roommate or work an office job again. I wake up everyday and set my own schedule, push my own agenda, play by my own rules.

Through a combination of hard work and good timing, I’ve been able to climb up to the middle class by doing the thing I love.

The apartment is not large. A bedroom, a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. It’s not the cheapest, but I pay for location. If you want to live in this version of Uptown, you have to have a little bit of money.

Sometimes I fell like I’m being watched.

I should rephrase that. My apartment is on the second floor and faces the street. I know I’m not being watched, at least not in the literal sense.

You see, I’m in love.

But again, this is not necessarily in the literal sense. I mean, I know I’m in love, but I’m not sure if I’m in love with him or with some idea of him.

Everything I do is influenced by him. This is why I say I feel like I’m being watched. Every major decision I’ve made has been haunted by a voice in my head asking, “What would he think?”

It’s good and bad, this voice. I can hear his disapproving voice whenever I light a cigarette or stay up too late. Each time I get a tattoo or go home with someone. I know these are things that, were he here, would never happen. While I am able to live with the twinge of guilt these things bring, that same voice has kept me from doing much more destructive things. I won’t elaborate on that. Not now.

He knows I love him. I don’t keep it a secret. Sometimes I suspect he loves me too. In fact, I know he does. But the question isn’t necessarily “too.” I love lots of people. Family, lifelong friends, my cat. The question is “back.” Does he want to be with me? I don’t know. I’ve given up hope of ever really knowing.

Letting that go was important. It gave me peace of mind.

Frankly, I don’t even know if we’d work as a couple anyway. We have a lot in common. On paper we’d be perfect for each other. But I’ve been down that road with other people. These things rarely work out the way you anticipate.

I don’t know how long I’ll be in this place. It’s been so long that it feels like home now. All the things I dislike about it have long since ceased to annoy me. Let the neighbors make noise, I’ll sleep through it. Let the faucet leak, I don’t pay the water bill. I suppose a little more sunshine for my cat would be nice, but even he seems to have made due with just that little bit each day. I think it makes him appreciate it more.

I suppose we’ve both learned to love the little things.

We have each other.